The Daughter's Of Laurel (The Sorcerer's Stone)
by withlove-witchhazel
Summary: Chapter One: The Three Witches. A child abandoned at the gates of Hogwarts. A portrait of a happy family. And a husband ripped from his home. (*see my profile page for details on the full story*)
1. Chapter 1: The Three Witches

"Is everything alright, Albus?"

Professor McGonagall shuffled hurriedly up towards the headmaster's desk where Dumbledore stood with Professor Snape. The old witch in the portrait, one of the past headmistresses of Hogwarts, returned to her home on one of the far walls as she entered, having come from Minerva's chambers near Gryffindor tower only minutes before.

McGonagall couldn't imagine what could be wrong at this time of night in the summer months. The leaves had not yet even begun to shift in color, and the warmth of August was still very present in the air. The students had not yet returned, and the heads of each house had just begun to arrive back on the grounds from their brief holiday. It was a relatively peaceful and quiet time in the castle. No, she couldn't imagine what could be wrong, but she imagined something must be, given the hour of the night and the urgency with which she had been summoned.

But it didn't take her long to figure out why.

"Oh my…"

As she walked in, Dumbledore had turned, revealing the small bundle he was holding in his arms. Snape turned with him, looking from McGonagall to the small child wrapped in a crimson blanket, his brows furrowed and his face contorted in a sour sort of scowl.

She took a few steps closer.

"What happened?"

"It appears," Dumbledore began, his voice soft and knowing, "That someone has abandoned this poor child at the gates of our school. She was found by Peeves this evening as he was roaming the grounds."

McGonagall's lips parted in shock as she walked up to get a better look at the bundle.

The child was sleeping soundly in Dumbledore's arms, a few locks of dark hair resting across the pale cheek. After a moment, McGonagall tucked away the wand she had been using to light her way through the dark halls beneath her night robes, and gently reached her arms out to take the child.

There was some unnamable enchantment about the infant, who McGonagall quickly realized could not have been more than a few weeks old. She marveled at the small face worriedly before looking back at her colleagues. Dumbledore looked dreamy and thoughtful as he kept his eyes on the baby, and Snape's face was still stiff and contorted.

It had only been very recently that Severus Snape had been made Potions Master at Hogwarts, and though McGonagall trusted Dumbledore with all her being, she hadn't yet figured out just what he saw in this man. He was brilliant, sure, but in moments like this to seem so disgusted and unpleasant… well, she was patient and supposed he would grow into his place here in time.

"Do we know who left her?"

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore responded sadly, "When Peeves found her, all that lay with her was this card. It was tucked into her blanket."

He reached behind him to pick up a small white card lying on his desk, still creased from how it had been folded. Glancing at it briefly over his spectacles, he handed it over to McGonagall, as she nodded her head towards Snape to take the child.

"Severus."

His face never changing, Snape took the child somewhat awkwardly into his arms. The girl continued to sleep as Minerva took her own glasses from where they hung on her robe and read the card.

_Lila._

She flipped the note over in her hand, looking for something more. "Surely, this can't be all they left for her?" McGonagall asked, appalled.

"Indeed it is," Dumbledore answered solemnly.

McGonagall shook her head and looked again at the name written so irreverently on the card. "Not even a surname," she murmured to herself.

"And," Dumbledore pressed on, "There is another complication."

He turned around and wordlessly held his arms out to Snape, who handed him back the child named Lila. Instead of cradling her, he shifted her so that she was resting her head on his shoulder. She began to stir a little as he patted her back.

"There, there," he said dreamily.

Gently, Dumbledore pulled down the back of the blanket enough so that the baby's neck could be seen. With the cloth partially removed, the girl's soft dark hair could be seen in full view, a little longer than most children her age would have. It was visibly soft and the color a rich, dark brown, with surprising flecks of red and gold in it.

And below the hairline, as if branded into her skin, was a mark. A birthmark that indicated that she was no ordinary child. Lila was a siren.

McGonagall gasped a little when she saw it, and brought her fingers up to lightly trace the raised skin.

"She's a siren?" she asked, incredulously.

"_Part_ siren," Dumbledore corrected, "You see the coloring of the mark? Had she been born of two sirens, the mark would be black. Here, it is white, it blends almost seamlessly into her skin."

McGonagall looked between Dumbledore and Snape, who continued to watch the scene with an unchanging face.

"What can we do?" she asked finally.

There was a brief pause in which the child began to cry, wriggling her small arms as if reaching for something the best she knew how. Dumbledore bounced her a bit and turned back to Snape, whose face seemed to smooth out a bit, taking the child back and holding her in a similar position, softly rubbing her back. In a few moments, Lila grew calm again, drifting in and out of sleep. Minerva raised her eyebrows, realizing that his quiet and even manner had a pleasant effect on the baby.

"Well," Dumbledore began as she looked back to him for an answer, "That is the problem. You see, she is part siren, and part witch. You can sense the magic in her blood." He serenely placed his hands behind his back and began to cross to the window, looking out onto the quiet night as he continued. "I fear it is too dangerous to leave her in an orphanage. A girl such as she would not only be at risk herself, but a risk to others if she is not raised properly. And with the unrest that has been so rampant in our world as of late…" he added, tilting his head back to her slightly, "I do not think it safe to leave her with even a magical family. She has no one."

McGonagall looked back again at the little girl wrapped in the dark, red cloth, left with nothing but that and a name. She knew too well what Dumbledore meant; a siren was a rare person in this world, a dying race. The fact that a child who had even _some_ siren blood in her existed was astonishing. It would not be wise to leave her with someone who didn't understand, who couldn't teach her. And at this time, where Voldemort was so at large and people were being forced into hiding, there were few who could be trusted. Leaving a helpless child, of any bearing, with just anyone would have been wrong. She looked to Dumbledore once more, who had now turned completely to face her.

"Therefore, I can only see one option left. We must keep her here."

McGonagall let out a sigh. She had expected it, but still raised her eyebrows at the words. It was unprecedented, but indeed, the best thing they could do; and, stern as she was, she was caring just as much. She couldn't see leaving this helpless child to fend for herself.

The room was quiet as the two men, who had clearly already discussed this before she arrived, waited for her answer.

She gave a confident nod. "I agree. That is the best thing we can do. The _only_ thing," she added firmly.

Dumbledore gave a faint smile, having known that she would feel as he did. From where he stood with Lila, Snape continued to watch, giving a small nod in an echo of his own already established agreement.

"Then it is settled," Dumbledore nodded, crossing back into the center of the room. He looked between his colleagues on either side of him. "I have sent owls to Professors Flitwick and Sprout on the matter, and assuming they agree," he added, feeling confident that they would, "Young Lila will be raised as a ward of the school."

The next day, return owls from the remaining heads of houses would make it official. And Professor McGonagall, insisting that she be given a last name, bestowed her with the name "Belledonna."

And so Lila Belledonna was given a home.

A few months later, somewhere in the country, a man stood holding a different kind of bundle in his arms. Remus Lupin stood outside of his home with a bouquet of wildflowers. It was a humble cottage, with not much surrounding it but a modest garden and a wooden gate. On one side of the land lay a huge outstretch of forest; on the other, endless ground which, if you traveled enough, would lead over a hill to the home of the Weasleys.

He had just returned that morning from the heart of the aforementioned forest, for it had been a full moon the night before and he had spent it deep in the darkness and cover of the trees and far from the ones he loved most; those who were waiting eagerly for him just on the other side of the door.

He changed back from his werewolf form in the early hours of the dawn, and had made a quick stop to see Arthur Weasely, to get cleaned up and put himself together. It was thanks to his good friend that he had been able to always return to his family in a way that wouldn't frighten them.

Now here he stood, only a small scar on his cheek (from what, he couldn't, and wouldn't, remember), but otherwise well dressed with a warm smile working its way onto his handsome face.

With a small breath, he turned the rusty knob and opened the door.

"Hello?" his voice trailed in warmly as he peeked around the corner. He stepped in quietly, closing the door behind him and hiding the bouquet behind his back.

When there was no response, he stepped further into the house, looking around the living room. When he found no one there, his brows furrowed and he made his way into the kitchen. Once there, he dropped his arm down to his side and straightened, looking around the empty space as if he expected someone to appear before him out of thin air.

"Annie?" he called out, growing more confused by the minute. He opened his mouth to call her name again, but instead he was startled by a pair of hands grabbing at his sides.

"Ha!" the woman cried as she snuck up on her husband, bursting into laughter.

Remus jumped at the surprise, then turned around slowly and rolled his eyes at the woman beaming up at him with bright green eyes. "Gotcha," she remarked proudly, weaving her arms up around his neck and kissing his lips.

He smirked down at her, shaking his head and returning the embrace.

"How did you know…"

"I saw you coming, you silly man. Oh, for me?" she exclaimed in mock surprise, pulling away and retrieving the flowers from his hand.

"Ah, of course," he remarked, "You know that _gift_ of yours is no fun for me."

She shook her head, laughing. "You love me," she reminded him, kissing him on the cheek.

His smile grew soft and reverent. "That I do."

She turned and, pulling her wand from robe, transformed a glass of water sitting on the counter into a vase, placing the flowers inside, and with another graceful wave, arranging them beautifully.

"So, how are you? Was it bad last night? I tried to keep an eye on you but our daughter has a knack for stealing my foc- Oh, sweetheart, your face-" she said as she turned back to him, seeing the red line across his cheek. She walked up to him, gently turning his face with her hands to assess the damage.

"Don't fuss, it's nothing," he said passively, pulling her hands down and holding them both in his. "We both know I've looked much worse," he reminded her, raising an eyebrow.

Annie let out a sigh; she knew he was right. But this was the man she loved; she couldn't help but worry.

"Now," he said, squeezing her hands and crossing back towards the living room, "Speaking of our daughter, where is the little trouble-maker? Was she crawling out of her crib all-"

But before he could finish, he answered his own question, as a small girl in a lavender onesie came crawling around the corner from her nursery. He laughed as he saw her move happily towards him, her black hair rustled and her expression determined.

He knelt down and waited patiently for her, as Annie stood behind him and shook her head in amusement.

"Yes she was," she said, answering his unfinished question.

But after a moment, the baby girl stopped in her tracks, her little face showing a change in thought.

"Oh, Remus," Annie said excitedly, kneeling down next to him, "I think she's going to walk!" Of course, she didn't _think_ this, she _knew_. But she was ecstatic nonetheless.

And sure enough, the child fumbled awkwardly as she stood, and with unpracticed but driven feet, made her way to her father's arms, her parents cheering her on the whole way.

When she finally reached him, Remus beamed with pride and scooped her up into his arms, kissing her on the cheek as Annie clapped her hands beside him.

"That's my girl," he said to the smiling face of his daughter.

Annie leaned in and kissed little Sorrel's cheek, flushed from the effort of taking her first steps, then looked at Remus, placing a hand on his back.

"Happy Anniversary, my love," she said softly, kissing his cheek.

"Happy Anniversary, darling."

The happiness the three of them shared in that moment was so deep, so tangible, that they thought it would last forever.

They never would have dreamed that this anniversary would be their last.

It was a year later, in November of 1981, that in a little suburb near London, one woman's life would be shaken forever.

"Please, please- you've got the wrong man, he would never do such a thing, please!"

Bernadette was near hysterics as the guards who had showed up so maliciously on her doorstep took her husband away for what they claimed to be unthinkable crimes. She grabbed at their immovable arms as the man they dragged away tried to fight them off of him, his innocence and the pained voice of his wife fueling his resolve to break free.

The guards hadn't spoken since their arrival, except to say that they were taking her husband away and announcing what they insisted he was guilty of. It was as if they couldn't hear her protests as she tried to get them to listen to the truth. But they could hear her just fine; they simply didn't care.

Finally, the head guard who had been standing by the door, a man twice the size of his two companions, drew his wand and pointed it threateningly at the struggling man's head.

"That's enough!" he ordered, and the man grew still.

"Now," he continued, "If you refuse to come quietly, we will have to resort to more… violent methods of removal. Things which, I'm sure, you would not want to subject your poor wife to seeing."

The man, his eyes both desperately angry and hopelessly sad, tried to steady his breath. He couldn't bear to see his wife's face at those words, so he kept his head down. He knew that he had little more choice in the matter. He would have to let them take him.

After a moment, when the large guard felt sure the man would cooperate, he withdrew his wand and nodded to his men.

And with that, they began to move him.

"No, wait, _please!_" Bernadette continued to cry out, her voice almost childlike in it's neediness.

The man halted in the doorway as the guards continued to drag. He knew he would only have a few moments to say goodbye before they ripped him fully from his home.

"It's alright, love. I'll come back to you, I swear it," he said firmly, the fire in his eyes passionate and sure, for her sake if for nothing else. "Once I have a trial, you'll see, they'll let me go. I won't let you down. Either of you," he added, glancing down at her swollen belly.

"Let's go!" The head guard called impatiently.

The tug on her husband's arms became fiercer, and before she could lose her chance, she took his face harshly in her hands and kissed him desperately on the lips. "I love you," she whispered intensely as he was finally pulled away.

And just before they apparated away in front of her, he called the sentiment back to her, his voice full of promise and a speedy return.

Distraught, Bernadette fell to her knees as soon as he disappeared, sobbing uncontrollably, wrapping her arms around her stomach and holding her unborn child as if her very life depended on it.

She hadn't seen, but when her husband had spoken of a trial, a vicious smirk had crossed the head guard's face.

For he knew what she didn't: that there would be no such trial.


	2. Chapter 2: The Beginning

Sorrel Lupin was never late.

Today, however, she would be. Professor Snape had kept her late after Potions, making her explain five times why she had failed to correctly brew the Swelling Solution they had been working on in class and where she had gone wrong. She was not a particular favorite of his, which wouldn't have bothered her if he didn't insist on reminding her of it in a way that would make her late for a class that she actually cared about.

She was running up the stairs from the dungeons, ever-so-calmly murmuring about "stupid class" and "insufferable human" under her breath, when she turned a sharp corner, colliding with one body only to be swiftly caught by another.

"Sorry, sorry…" she started, pulling herself upright and straightening her robes. But when she looked up and saw who it was she had run into, she let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, it's you."

"Well, don't sound so happy to see us," Fred Weasley mused.

"Yeah, we did just save your life, you know," George added, pretending to be wounded by her lack of enthusiasm.

Even frazzled as she was, they never failed to make her laugh. It had been that way throughout her childhood. Fred and George were two of her closest friends, and though she was logical and headstrong, as her Ravenclaw sorting had proven her, they could always bring out her silly side.

She gave a short laugh and rolled her eyes.

"I'm _sorry_," she said dramatically, smirking at the two boys. They exchanged a proud look with each other and smiled back down at her. "But I'm _really_ late for class."

"You? Late?" George gasped, his eyes wide.

"There's something I've never heard before," Fred chimed in dryly.

"Well, don't let us keep you then," George pressed on, fixing her robes in mock panic and rustling her hair, "Don't want to be tossed out your second year here."

Sorrel shook her head, suppressing a laugh, and gave him a soft shove. Fred then grabbed her shoulders and turned her towards him, bending down to meet her at eye level and telling her seriously, "Fly fast, young Ravenclaw. Don't let us down." And he flicked her nose playfully, sending her on her way.

"You guys are freaks!" she called out teasingly over her shoulder as she resumed her run.

"We're your favorite!" George called back.

"Yeah, don't run into anyone else, they won't be as friendly!" Fred added. As she disappeared around another corner, smiling to herself, the brothers exchanged a look of victorious amusement and continued on their way.

Only a few moments later, Sorrel appeared, panting and flushed, in the doorway to the Transfiguration classroom. Having heard her speedy footsteps, her classmates turned their heads to see what all the fuss was, as McGonagall had turned from the board she had been writing on, her eyes wide over her glasses.

Sorrel, suddenly realizing all eyes were on her, felt her cheeks grow a little warm at the attention.

"I- I'm sorry I'm late, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, he-"

"Never mind, Miss Lupin, never mind- just hurry up and take a seat," McGonagall said, calmly waving off her stammering and proceeding with her lesson. She wasn't really concerned with Sorrel being late; she was an excellent student and it wasn't something that occurred on a regular basis.

Sorrel nodded gratefully, eyes turning back forward and class resuming as usual. Looking around, she could find only one empty seat. Lila Belledonna, a Slytherin, was sitting at the center desk three rows back, and the chair beside her was vacant.

At that time, Sorrel had no real feeling one way or the other about Lila. They had shared only a couple of classes first year, and she was pleasant enough, smart, but they had never really spoken. She knew little about her, and guessed that this lack of knowledge was mutual. Of course, Lila did had a bit of a legacy, which was pretty well known amongst the student body as a whole. She had grown up in this castle, a half-siren orphaned and left at the gates as an infant, then permitted to start school a year early at the age of ten. But that was common knowledge, and besides that, Lila was not one to draw excess attention to herself (a trait they had in common). This term, they shared a much more similar class schedule, but it was still only the beginning of the year.

Walking quickly to the empty chair, Sorrel sat quietly down.

The two girls exchanged a brief friendly glance, each acknowledging the presence of the other to be polite, and Sorrel took her books out of her bag as they both turned their attention forward.

"Now, as I was saying…" McGonagall pressed on, removing her spectacles and continuing with her lesson.

Today, they were learning to transform clocks into canaries. It was more review than anything else, combining the spells they had focused on in their first year with new skills and spells they were to learn this year. Unfortunately, many of their classmates had not retained the reviewed material as well as the Professor would have hoped.

"So, who can tell me the general distinction between wand movement for transfiguration versus untransfiguration?"

Her question was met with absolute silence from the room.

As the silence became more painful, Lila furrowed her brows and Sorrel rolled her eyes up towards the ceiling. Both young witches knew the answer, but neither was eager to be, yet again, the one with the answer. They shifted uncomfortably in their seats, waiting for someone else to speak up and respond to what they both felt was a reasonably easy question.

"Anyone?" McGonagall asked, surprised and disappointed at the lack of response.

Lila's leg started to bounce under the table and Sorrel let out a sigh; this was unbearable.

"_Seriously_?" Lila breathed to herself, dropping her head.

Sorrel began to rock a bit in her seat, pursing her lips as the answer threatened to burst forth.

McGonagall shook her head at the group, her eyebrow raised, and both girls could feel her glance brush over them, her expectation boring into them as they squirmed.

"Well, I must say, I am very disappointed. We spent a great deal of time last term going over this."

Lila rubbed her face with her hands. Sorrel clasped hers firmly together on the desk.

"Not _one_ of you can give me an answer?"

She glanced at them briefly again. Lila looked up at the molding in the archway as Sorrel became perfectly still.

"Alright. Well, if _none_ of you knows…"

"_Accent up versus accent down_!"

The two voices rang out together in a single outburst, Lila and Sorrel exchanging a look of common surprise with each other once they had spoken. The rest of the class looked at them as well, some of them taken aback by the sudden outcry, some kicking themselves for not remembering the answer. McGonagall smirked at the two girls, and gave a small nod.

"Precisely."

The lesson continued on from there, most of the class eventually able to perform the assigned transfiguration and its reversal by the end. A few, however, such as Hufflepuff Tobias Shaw, had successfully managed to magically disfigure the clock into pieces. A gentle boy, he always did have a knack for accidently making things come undone. Beside him, his friend and fellow Hufflepuff, Camilla Miller, patted his back consolingly. When McGonagall came over to him, he looked up at her with innocent brown eyes and an embarrassed shrug. She simply looked down at him dryly, and as usual, waved her wand once over the pile of knuts and gears, putting the clock back together.

When class was finally dismissed, Sorrel and Lila lagged behind, leaving together and laughing.

"I still can't believe no one knew that answer," Sorrel remarked, shaking her head at the thought.

"I know," Lila agreed, "I've known the answer to that one since I was seven years old."

Sorrel looked at her with genuine curiosity. "Can I ask you something?"

Lila, no stranger to inquiries, shrugged nonchalantly, "Shoot."

"What was it _like_… growing up here, I mean?"

Lila laughed, considering. "Well, clearly I spent a lot of time in the classroom."

"Yes," Sorrel agreed, smiling, "Clearly. I'm a bit surprised you weren't sorted into Ravenclaw, honestly."

Lila raised her eyebrows and countered, "You all don't have exclusive rights to intelligence, you know."

"Fair, fair," Sorrel conceded, "But we do have quite the monopoly on it…"

"True. But it's too bad you're not also known for the drive needed to make use of it."

The two girls continued to talk and tease each other easily as they walked, finally reaching the corridor where they would separate to reach their respectable common rooms. They stopped for a moment, each pleasantly surprised by how comfortable they had become so quickly.

"Save you a seat in Charms?" Sorrel offered.

Lila nodded with a smile. "Just try not to be late, this time," she added with a raise of her brow. And with that, she turned and headed to the stairs that would lead her down to the dungeons.

"Shove off!" Sorrel called after her, laughing.

A few passing students glanced at her in confusion, telling someone to shove off in such a cheerful manner. Sorrel looked around for a moment, then, suppressing a giggle, she headed up to Ravenclaw tower.

And so a friendship that seemed inevitable was formed.


End file.
